We work and we slave.

After two weeks of cleaning, the assistant's lounge finally bears some vague resemblance to a place that would not violate more than a few Board of Health Regulations. In fact, parts of it almost squeak with tidiness.

The small room includes a table and chairs, shelves stocked with alcohol all kinds of supplies and books, a shiny! new! couch, a sink -- which might have a faint smell of something burnt around it -- and a file cabinet, the bottom drawer of which is sealed shut with biohazard stickers. There's also a TV, which is tuned to an episode of The Jerry Springer Show, because right now that's about the speed setting of Angela's brain. She sits on the couch flipping idly through an issue of Composure from last fall that someone has left in the lounge.

There are some Doritos, pretzels, soda and Twinkies on the table. Assistants and friends can come in and help themselves.

[OOC: The lounge is open for TAs, clinic aides, library staff and invited friends. Only TAs and such have keys, though, and the door is locked when none of them are around. If you're a TA and don't have community membership, request it here.]